


The Phantom Inside My Mind

by Izzyzal (orphan_account)



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Implied Loki/Sif, Eventual Thor/Loki, Eventual Thor/Sif, F/M, Fandral is less impressive than he would like, Frigga holds the power, Here there be magic, Jötunn Loki, Kid Loki, Kid Thor, Loki Feels, Loki is a bad influence, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Identity, Thor Feels, Warning: Loki, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Izzyzal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor has never been alone, for as long as he can remember.  As a child, he indulged in his friend, and as he grew older, he tried to ignore him... but Thor’s imaginary companion may not be quite as imaginary as he’s been led to believe.</p><p>(On hiatus until further notice. Sorry, y'all.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve never written a Thor fanfiction before. Then I watched Thor. And Thor 2. And Phantom of the Opera. Dear god, what have I done? I apologize if anything is incorrect; it’s probably pretty obvious that this is my first one. You can chalk it up to either the fact that this is severely AU or the fact that I was _much_ too lazy to look anything up. There will be a lot of back-and-forth between Thor’s POV (the present) and Loki’s (mostly flashbacks). Sorry for that. Short prologue is short.
> 
> A few notes on this interpretation of Asgard. Magicians are, as usual, women and cowards, but Aesir magic is not made for combat. It is flashy, showy, slight-of-hand, magical fireworks type magic, or everyday household task, practical magic like cleaning and joining cloth to cloth without requiring needles. Jotunn magic is combat magic, but as one Jotunn sorcerer is born every five thousand years and generally killed rather quickly, this is not common knowledge. Women in Asgard do not fight unless they pass a rigorous training exam and, yes, it’s a fairly sexist society. Views on homosexuality, in Asgard, are much the same as in Old Norse: it doesn’t matter what a person’s preference is, they are expected to marry and have children. Being argr, however, is worthy of being shunned from society. Conversely, homosexuality is nonexistent in Jotunn because there are no women. They are not intersexed, however, their bodies just work weirdly. If I think of anything else, I’ll have other notes.

It had not been a good day for the Prince of Asgard.

Safely ensconced in his glittering rooms, the small boy clenched his fists against punching the walls and his jaw against a wail that wanted to escape. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks, sliding down his jaw to join at the point of his chin and splatter hugely on the marble floor between his bare feet. He drew hissing, labored breaths through his clenched teeth.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _fair._ He was to be a prince one day! He was to rule all of Asgard! Why, then, was he told that he was too small to take up arms? He should have been learning to fight, to battle, but instead he was turned away from the training fields with dismissive words and gestures.

_You’re too small._

_Don’t be silly, you’ll just hurt yourself._

_You can’t hold anything larger than a stick, boy, sit back and watch the real warriors at work._

His friends had tried to comfort him. After all, Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun were not allowed to train with the real warriors, either. Sif had fumed at his tirade and stomped her foot before storming away; she would never be allowed to train, and she had yelled as much at him before she had gone.

But she was a girl! She could never understand.

A soft hiccup escaped his lips and he raised one fist to his eyes, scrubbing the tears away angrily. It wasn’t fair. If his father could see him now, he would tell him that it was for this very reason that he was not allowed to take up arms, and that didn’t make it any better. Instead, he threw himself down on his coverlet and balled himself up, sobbing.

He would have stayed in that state for hours, days, weeks (unless a mealtime came), had it not been for the voice.

_“Such a small child for such large tears.”_

Thor’s eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly, looking for the intruder in his room. It was a man’s voice, strong and sure, but also a woman’s voice, soft and light. The timbre leaned more towards male, definitely, but as he saw neither in his chambers his expression quickly turned confused.

The voice spoke again, as though it was coming from beside Thor, behind him, from the very walls itself. _“Tell me, little one, why do you cry? Surely one such as you has little to cry about. What’s the matter, did someone steal your favorite toy?”_

“No!” Thor bit out, clenching his fist and staring around wildly as he attempted to locate the source of that voice. It was smooth as silk and soft as a feather, but the malice in the words cut like fine, sharp glass. “Who are you? Where are you?!”

_“Poor little princeling, knows not what to do but demand. What makes you think I even have a name?”_

He didn’t like being called princeling. It grated. “Everyone has a name!”

_“Oh, do they? And this was your decree, was it, princeling? Does the thought of one possessing no name displease you? Will you begin to cry again?”_

Something in the mocking tone forced him to sit up fully and sniffle, swallowing back the new tears that wanted so badly to fall. Instead, he sat with his back straight and raised his chin. His vision was clouded with mist, but the voice couldn’t tell that. “I will not listen to the mocking words of a phantom!”

The voice began to laugh, a high, shattered sound that made Thor wince through his tiny façade. _“Phantom, am I? Then you may call me Phantom. Such arrogance suits you, princeling.”_

“My name is Thor! Thor Odinson!”

_“And I guarantee I shall call you such when you prove to me it is a name you deserve.”_

Thor felt his words and protests all attempting to surge out at once, jamming in his throat and choking him. He could get none of them out. The laugh came again, softer but still high, and he glared at the ceiling.

_“So tell me, princeling,”_ the voice continued as though he had not been corrected. _“Why do you cry?”_

The boy clenched his hands into the soft material of his pants and glared at his whitening knuckles. “I want to be a warrior like my father,” he said. “But the other warriors, the older warriors, they say I am too young to train. They say I will do naught but get in their way, slow them down, injure myself and force them to care for me.” He felt the tears welling again and blinked them away furiously.

_“How many winters are you, princeling?”_

The question caught Thor off-guard and he raised his head, frowning and sniffling once more. “Winters? I am... I am eight summers.”

The voice – Phantom, Thor decided he would remain – scoffed at his words. _“Are you, now.”_

Thor’s frown deepened and he turned his gaze back to his lap. “I shall be, when the sun turns warm again.”

_“Seven, then,”_ Phantom said without missing a beat. _“My, my, already seven and not even permitted to learn the arts of your culture. Do you have an older brother who acts as heir apparent for you?”_

“No!” Thor squared his shoulders, sitting up straighter. “I have only my sisters, my mother’s daughters, but they will not inherit the throne! And my little brother is but a babe! I am heir apparent!”

Phantom tsked and Thor could almost imagine him shaking his head, even with no idea what he looked like. _“Unfortunate. What would they do if Asgard was attacked? Your chambers infiltrated? And you, unable to defend yourself. What a shame, indeed.”_

It grated to hear his own thoughts echoed in the words of this faceless stranger, but it simply fueled Thor’s thoughts that he was right. He should have been training with the warriors, not forced back to his rooms and told to trust the guards and the protectors. There was always a chance that he would end up alone, and if he should be attacked, then where would he be? He sighed heavily on the tail of that thought, his shoulders sagging and his head shaking. “It matters not,” he said in a small voice. “I am only permitted my play-swords and I have no one to train me. Fandral and I try but he is no more a warrior than me. We only end up giving each other splinters.”

_“Ah, you have play-swords?”_ Phantom sounded interested at the prospect. _“Show me.”_

Thor thought to ask how Phantom could even see if he had no face, but instead, he slid off his bed and went to his chest to withdraw two wooden swords. They were dulled and the hafts were wrapped in soft leather to prevent him from injuring his hands. The ‘blades’ themselves were dented from the force with which he and Fandral had attacked each other. It was a wonder they had not split. With no specific person to show them to, Thor simply held them up, feeling a bit foolish but keeping his face as schooled as he could.

_“Mm... not ideal, but sufficient,”_ Phantom said, and Thor bit off the question he wanted to ask immediately. Phantom didn’t appear to like being interrupted. _“If you wish, I will teach you combat... under the condition that you tell no one about me.”_

“How?” Thor asked, screwing his face up and lowering the swords again. “Phantom, you have no body. How would you educate me in sword-art? I will tell no one, but...” He trailed off as Phantom began laughing. Unlike before, this laugh was a low rumble that reverberated deep within Thor’s belly.

_“Have you ever met a sorcerer, princeling?”_

“Of course,” Thor said, unable to keep the light scoff out of his voice. His father had a few in his employ, but they were but parlor magicians. They were cowards who could not fight, merely capable of providing amusement at the feasts. “What has that to do with sword-art?”

_“Everything,”_ Phantom said, and Thor’s shadow began stirring at his feet. He yelped and leaped away, but his shadow did not move with him. Instead, it began to solidify, rising from the ground as a person would raise themselves from having fallen. It looked like him, in a way, but it was as though he had been doused in pitch and covered in the deepest ink.

And then the eyes, oh, the eyes opened and Thor’s next cry died in his throat. They were where his belonged, but they were not his eyes. No, these eyes were narrower, harder, a bright emerald that shone with amusement and rage, the same eyes he had seen on men preparing to battle one who had recently given them insult. His shadow moved forward, dipping down to pick up one of the swords that Thor had dropped in his surprise. It hefted the wood in its extremely solid hand and pointed the tip forward, its foot kicking the other sword back Thor’s way.

_“Pick up your blade.”_ This time, Phantom’s voice was coming from Thor’s own shadow and suddenly he was beginning to understand. He had never in all his teachings even heard of such a thing being possible, let alone dreamed that he would see something like it. Phantom repeated the phrase, jerking his head towards the dropped sword and emphasizing the words.

It was the third time that Thor finally did lean down and lift the sword in his hand, swallowing hard and adjusting his grip around the leather.

_“Good,”_ Phantom said, all of his annoyance leeching out of his voice as he did so. _“Now... follow each of my instructions precisely. We will go slowly at first until you begin to learn. Do you understand?”_

Uncertain of what was expected of him, Thor simply nodded.

_“Then we begin.”_

The first crack of wood on wood filled the small room, a sound that would not be heard beyond the walls, as the shadowed sorcerer began educating the young princeling on the art of the sword.

Far, far below the prince’s room, deep in the belly of the palace, further down than even the treasury, the Jotunn sorcerer smiled.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! The first real chapter where things and stuff start happening, a little. Here’s hoping that switching back and forth between the past and the present won’t be too confusing. The plan is to do one flashback, followed by one ‘present day’ scene, and progress from there.

Jotunheim screamed.

The wind howled and shrieked through the icicles in time with Laufey’s cries, the pain of the land’s king echoed in the sounds outside the ice temple. With each pitched howl from the king, the wind answered.

All of Jotunheim knew that there would be a new prince born this night.

The labor was terrible, worse than either that of Helblindi or Byleistr, and carried on for three days. In all that time, Angrboda had not left his side, soothing Laufey with ice on his forehead and soft songs of ancient Jotunheim. Frozen blood bathed the interior of the temple room. Helblindi and Byleistr had been forbidden entrance until such a time as the child was born.

And when he was... he was small. Angrboda took the small Jotunn in his hands, frowning in confusion. Small for the Jotnar, certainly; small, even, for an Aesir child. As he opened his mouth to comment, the child began to wail.

The wind screamed again. The thin ice of the windows shattered, raining down on the temple floor. The child’s fists became coated in a soft, pulsing green light, and Angrboda promptly dropped him. The babe let out a scream of rage and caught himself mid-air, hovering inches above the bloody ground littered with glass shards as though someone was holding him. He screwed his tiny face up and screamed himself purple as the winds blew ice and snow into the temple. Laufey grunted and sat up slowly, staring through one eye at the screeching child.

“A sorcerer,” he mumbled, regret and resignation both lacing his tone. “Has it truly been five thousand years...?”

Despite his obvious pain and discomfort, Laufey reached out and took the child from his place hovering above the ground. He then collapsed backward, allowing the babe to rest against his breast. Immediately, the wailing stopped and the winds calmed. Laufey drew deep breaths and patted the child on the back, turning his gaze to Angrboda. “I birthed a sorcerer.”

“Yes,” Angrboda agreed, nodding shortly and still staring at the child as though he expected him to catch fire. A sudden pounding on the doors drew both their attention, and before they could call out, Helblindi and Byleistr forced their way into the temple. Obviously, the commotion with the windows had drawn their attention.

The conversation was heated, and angry, as they debated what to do with the child. He could not be permitted to wander the land freely, not when no one would be able to challenge him.

“He is stronger than the four of us and he is mere minutes old,” Helblindi said. “What are we to do when he comes of age? Should we displease him, he will slaughter us without thought! We cannot permit him to live!”

“There are ways of removing a sorcerer’s magic,” Byleistr said, his deep voice trailing off as though he intended to continue before simply falling silent entirely. He looked at the child, then at his father, then at the broken windows as though he had no thought to continuing his part in this discussion.

“Yes, and look at his size!” Helblindi said, abruptly switching sides of the argument as he was wont to do. “Take his magic from him and then what? He is tiny by those thrice-damned Aesir’s standards! It is signing his death warrant!”

“I thought the intention was to kill him once we had removed his magic,” Angrboda said, raising an eyebrow at the crown prince.

“It is!”

“Then why are you arguing?” Without waiting for a response, he took the child from Laufey, who had fallen into a semi-comatose state from his loss of blood and was clearly no longer following the conversation. Angrboda laid the babe on the floor, where he promptly started hiccupping again and screwed his face up once more. Always prepared for any contingency, Angrboda removed a vial from his pouch and uncapped it. It hissed as the cork was removed, steam rising from the neck and a soft bubbling coming from the inside.

“What is that?” Byleistr asked, taking an involuntary step back and suddenly eyeing the vial with no small amount of trepidation. 

“It was created many, many ages ago,” Angrboda explained quickly. “It takes four thousand years to brew properly, and is supposed to remove the magical abilities from a sorcerer. I carry it with me each time I assist with a birth, in case this happens. It will allow us to destroy him properly.”

The babe shrieked as the liquid splashed the right side of his face, but Laufey’s voice cut over the proceedings. _“Stop.”_ As though the command went straight to his reflexes, Angrboda righted the vial. The wind began to scream again, silencing only once Laufey had gathered the boy in his arms once more and pressed his cold hand to the child’s aching face. He couldn’t feel anything strange beneath his palm besides the heat, and when he moved his hand, the boy looked perfectly normal. He drew a few quick breaths before shaking his head slowly and turning his gaze over to the window.

“The child... will keep his magic,” Laufey decreed, and though his voice was weak and shaking, it was still the voice of the king. “He will be allowed to live, and grow.”

“Father,” Helblindi began, sounding scandalized, but Laufey silenced him with a sharp glance.

“He will have his uses. He still has some magic in him, though there is no telling what that potion may have done. Still, we will handle him with great... care.”

Angrboda corked the vial again, knowing it was useless to argue with Laufey when he had made a decision. “Will you raise him in the palace?”

“No,” Laufey said, shaking his head. “We will prepare him a temple, and it is in that temple he will reside. The four of us here will be his only contacts. We will permit no others to know of his existence. We will inform the land that the babe died on being born and that the corpse was malformed and, thus, destroyed.”

Byleistr snorted, as though to say, _“Deformed is right.”_ He wisely said nothing, though, and earned himself no look from his father as his elder brother had.

“And the child?” Angrboda asked. “What will we say to him as he grows?”

“I have ideas,” Laufey said, stroking the child’s hair even as he drifted off to an uneasy sleep. “I will share them with you, in time. For now, the most important thing is to ensure that no one knows of his existence. The eyes of the Aesir will be the sole problem, but they have not interfered in Jotunheim in centuries and I plan to give them no reason to change that.”

Helblindi and Byleistr exchanged glances but, wisely, did not speak.

“And his name, my king? What will it be?”

Laufey glanced at the windows once more before back at the child. “He will be called Loptr.”

\--------

“Ow! Thor, that hurts!”

The child laughed delightedly at his friend’s protests, born from petulance rather than genuine hurt, and waved his play-sword above his head. “Come, Fandral, you will be no sort of warrior if you do not learn how to take a blow!”

In response, Fandral offered him a pout, rubbing his left shoulder where Thor had ‘stabbed’ him. Volstagg and Hogun were reclined on the grass nearby, watching them with interest; Volstagg shoved another sweetmeat in his mouth, while Hogun chewed idly at the grass held between his teeth. “Who taught you that?” Fandral was asking, still massaging the hurt.

“What do you mean?” Thor asked, grin still firmly in place.

“You’re learning sword-art!” Fandral cried suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at him before abruptly wincing and drawing his arm back. “Did you convince someone to teach you?”

“No, I’m simply more fit for sword-art than you, my friend,” Thor said as his grin widened. “You would be more fit for work with clothes and cooking with your fair face!”

Volstagg laughed, spraying bits of food everywhere, and Hogun ran one hand down the side of his face without his expression changing in the slightest. “That sounds like a challenge!” he said, the sweetmeat only barely obscuring his words.

Fandral’s ears were turning purple at the insult and, rather than raise his play-sword again, he threw it to the side and tackled Thor bodily around the waist. Their sizes were not that different, yet, and Thor’s laugh was changed to a sound of surprise as his own play-sword was dropped and he hit the ground with an ‘oof’. “Tell me who trained you in sword-art!” Fandral was yelling even as he and Thor rolled around on the grass, heedless of where they were hitting, pulling, kicking. Inevitably, they rolled straight into Volstagg (Hogun had been smart enough to get to his feet and backpedal out of the way of the quarreling duo) who was drawn none-too-gracefully into their wrestling match.

Between Fandral’s demands, Thor’s protests, and Volstagg’s laughter, it was impossible to tell what was going on. Hogun seated himself a short distance away, still chewing at the grass between his teeth, and remained there as Sif came over and plopped herself on the grass next to him.

“What happened?” she asked as she began undoing the intricate plait her mother had undoubtedly placed in her hair, proceeding to braid it and tie it with a leather thong instead.

“A fight,” Hogun said, glancing between the sharp hair pins Sif was throwing to the ground and his friends, still locked in combat. “Fandral thinks Thor to have found a mentor in sword-art. Thor admitted to nothing, of course, and the two began wrestling. Volstagg was dragged in soon after, though he did little to prevent it so I believe him to have been rather eager for the proceedings.”

Sif hummed lightly and began gathering up the hair pins again, slipping them into her bag. “Sounds about right.” She smirked when the wrestling boys glanced over, noticed her, and continued their battle with renewed furor as though now attempting to prove to her which was the strongest of the three. “Idiots,” she mumbled under her breath, her smirk changing to a smile at Hogun’s soft laugh. “Do you think it so?”

“Do I think what so?”

“Do you think Thor to have found a mentor in sword-art?” Sif turned her attention to Hogun, ignoring the other three completely. “You are, without doubt, the most level-headed of Thor’s companions. Has he not seemed strange to you, these past weeks?”

Hogun took a long time to think, turning his attention back to his friends and chewing at the grass between his lips again. Sif almost thought he wouldn’t answer when he finally said, “Happier.” She waited for him to elaborate, and he took his time in doing that as well. “He no longer bothers the warriors for lessons. He used to dog them for hours, begging them to teach him the arts. Now, he could hardly care less for their attention, and he does seem to be learning combat somewhere. I wonder if he finally took my advice and has just hidden himself, watching the warriors train and learning what he can from that.”

“Maybe,” Sif said, watching as Thor, Fandral, and Volstagg finally unfolded themselves from around each other and gasped for breath. She grinned a little, shaking her head at their antics. They were all bruised and cut, as it seemed they had retrieved the play-swords at some point and started smacking each other with them, and they were all uncharacteristically winded. “The All-Mother will not be happy when she sees the state of your clothing, my prince!” she called in a sing-song tone.

The look on Thor’s face was priceless and more than worth its weight in gold.

*

_“You were in another scrape with your friends, were you, princeling?”_

Thor looked up to glare around the room, but as the weeks had passed, the nickname had grown less grating. Still, the fact that Phantom still used the nickname with absolute impunity... “Fandral started it,” was all he said as he picked at the bandage around his hand.

With a soft, barely-audible hiss, his shadow formed itself beside him and was suddenly seated on the bed as though it had been there all along. Acid green eyes turned on him, but there was something...

“Phantom,” Thor began, reaching out to touch the shadow’s face but stopping when the other pulled back. “What happened to your eye?”

It was still as verdant as ever, but there was something... odd, on the right side. Near the corner, red was bleeding into the white and green as though he had been injured. Phantom blinked a few times and then, as if it had never happened, the color was gone. _“Nothing,”_ Phantom replied as soon as he had righted his eyes. _“Do not trouble your thoughts, worrying about it. Are you in any condition to spar this day?”_

“Yes!” was Thor’s immediate response, and he could have almost swore he saw a smile on Phantom’s borrowed face.

Thor had, in the past three weeks, proven himself to be a more than adequate student. He caught on quickly and he didn’t cry when he received a sharp blow for doing something wrong. Unlike in his book-learning, he was always rapt with attention when Phantom taught him sword-art, soaking in every word as though it was the next breath of air he needed to continue living.

It didn’t matter what he did, however; he could not land a touch on Phantom. Maybe he was just too good, or maybe it was that his play-sword simply cut through nothing as his shadow was made insubstantial. Whatever it was, Phantom never chided him, instead being rather lax with praise whenever Thor genuinely deserved it.

Thor was seated on his bed, bandaging his newly-bleeding knuckles, after their sparring match. Still borrowing his shadow, Phantom was stretched out on his bed, watching him do it. “Phantom?” Thor asked, waiting for the light hum that verified he had the other’s attention. “Where did you learn seidr?”

_“I do not use seidr,”_ Phantom answered lightly without missing a beat. _“And I never learned it. Well, not properly. It is simply my own power, I believe. I have had it since I was a child.”_

“Oh,” Thor said, sounding impressed despite himself. He didn’t know that was possible. “But I thought all magic was seidr.”

_“No, just Aesir magic.”_

“Are you not Aesir?”

_“No.”_

“What are you, then?”

_“I am a phantom.”_

Thor laughed and he was almost certain he saw that smile on Phantom’s lips again. “When will you tell me more about yourself?”

_“The same day I begin to call you by name,”_ Phantom said as the shadowed hand reached out to pat his shoulder. _“Until then, do not pester. It will make me call you princeling longer.”_

“But...”

_“That’s another day, for your effort.”_

Thor’s mouth fell open and Phantom began to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That ended up shorter than I intended, too. Ah well. More than likely the early chapters _will_ be short, and they’ll pick up more as we go along. People are apparently already reading this, which is a bit jaw-dropping for me. Hope I don’t disappoint in the future. Angst will be coming, but later.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a break between the last chapter and this one, as opposed to last time. They won’t all go up that fast; I just had more that I wanted to write that same day that didn’t make sense to shove into the prologue. However, I thought you all should know that [I have a Tumblr](http://hierophantasmic.tumblr.com/) where I will Tumbl and put updates and other things and you can follow me if you want to.

“Get out of here!”

The children that had been gathered around a window of the temple started, one of them surprised enough to let out a small scream. They turned to stare up at the imposing figure of the one who had discovered them and then, without even the decency of an apology, the three practically ran each other down in their haste to get away. Helblindi snorted under his breath, watching them go. His father would have been furious if he’d known anyone was trying to get into the temple, but the more often they chased the brats away, the less likely they’d be to come around again for fear of being caught.

At least, that was what his logic dictated.

It wasn’t as though he had a fear of Loptr being discovered, either. The boy’s ice temple was enormous and he generally stayed away from the windows. Of course, Helblindi wouldn’t have been surprised to know that he was capable of cloaking himself from sight; whatever the case, people knew that a temple had been constructed four years ago, but they didn’t have any idea why.

Rumors flew fast and thick, but none of a Jotnar runt had reached the family’s ears. No, Laufey’s story of the child dying once birthed seemed to have been accepted, particularly with Angrboda agreeing in the capacity of midwife.

Moving to the large double doors of the temple, Helblindi withdrew a key and sank it into a hidden groove in the ice. He pushed one of the doors open with a low cracking noise, remembering the day that his father had built the temple. It had been beautiful, watching the ice bend and curve to the king’s whims, the closest to magic that any normal Jotunn was capable of coming. But it wasn’t magic, not really. The land just obeyed them.

“Loptr,” Helblindi called as he stepped into the large lobby, shutting the door behind him and locking it. “I know you are here somewhere. Come out, I would speak with you.”

He received no immediate answer, but that was fine. The boy certainly was here, as he was wisely afraid of leaving the temple and stubborn enough not to answer the mere first time he was called. Helblindi sighed and began walking the length of the building, searching room after room and turning up with nothing. Loptr knew the halls better than he, certainly, and it was almost tempting to leave and come back the next day.

But he had food to bring the boy, and his father had requested a report on his well-being. Helblindi was not fool enough to return home without giving it an honest attempt.

He found the child, at length, curled up in a corner beneath some furs, long fingers tracing shapes in the frost on the floor. Loptr noticed him after a long moment and stood, the shapes revealed making no sense still and furs crumpling in a heap around his feet.

He was a hideous child, really. Small and frail, easily what the Aesir would call ergi, with a long tangle of black hair (where he had gotten that, no one knew) and small, thin features. His horns had just begun to grow, poking out from beneath the black mess on his head and barely beginning their curve towards the sky. His fingers were long and delicate. Everything about him screamed weakness and vulnerability, with none of the strength and posture of his heritage. He wondered, privately, how much of it was due to having been crammed in this temple for the entirety of his life, never being permitted to leave or any company beyond the family he was unaware of being related to.

He never voiced these thoughts. It wasn’t worth it.

“You should respond when I call you, Loptr.”

“Loki.” Helblindi resisted the urge to roll his eyes, barely suppressing it with a flutter of his eyelids. The child was as stubborn as an iceox, and he had decided that his name should be pronounced the way he dictated. He gave no reason for this when asked, merely offering a shrug and returning to whatever it was he had been doing.

“What were you doing?”

“Reading,” the child said, nudging the book with his bare foot without even looking. Helblindi looked him over slowly.

“Where are your clothes?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “I brought you some the last time I came. What you are wearing has nearly been worn through to rags.”

Loptr glanced down, fingers hooking the soft, thin material of his ratted shirt and glancing down at his pants. They had definitely seen better days, and despite their natural affinity for the cold, Helblindi couldn’t imagine it was comfortable during these winter months. Loptr just murmured, “I like these.”

Stubborn child.

Helblindi moved to sit on the floor and held a bag out. Loptr sat down on the furs, his hands reaching out for the cloth. Helblindi eyed the golden cuffs on the boy’s wrists, the only jewelry he had been granted. Angrboda had worked the potion into the cuffs instead, saying that they would stop Loptr from casting magic as long as they were worn. It had been as simple as telling the boy he would die if he removed them, and he was terrified to even let someone touch them after that.

Loptr sat the bag in his lap and untied it deftly, the corners falling away to reveal a skein of unfreezing ocean water, a loaf of dark bread, four fish, and ice-colored berries that were frozen on the outside but popped with bright blue juice when pierced with sharp Jotnar teeth. He set the water to the side and started on the fish, biting the head off and ripping the flesh away with a yank. Helblindi watched, unaffected, wondering what would have happened to this child if he hadn’t been a sorcerer.

They had been careful to tell him nothing of his heritage. He had been born in this temple, for all he knew. He wasn’t a prince, because he wasn’t the son of anyone at all. He was Loptr, he was nothing, he was something that Helblindi and Byleistr and occasionally Angrboda cared for, through the magnanimity of Laufey-King. Were it not for Laufey-King, there would be no Loptr because there would be no one to care for him.

It was enough. It had to be. He still didn’t understand what, exactly, it was that his father wanted with the boy-witch, why he hadn’t permitted Angrboda to remove his magic and slay him as an infant. It would have been so much simpler, and he wouldn’t have to keep dragging himself across miles of barren waste just to see the... the...

... _thing_ sitting before him.

Loptr sensed his gaze and stilled finally, large red eyes glancing up to him with half of the second fish frozen halfway to his mouth. He looked thoughtful before taking up the third fish and offering it up towards Helblindi. Towards his not-brother. Helblindi shook his head, but Loptr held the fish up higher, ruby eyes narrowing in a harsh glare. Harsher than he had seen on any child. Harsher, even, than he had seen on many fully grown Jotunn.

He took the fish.

Stubborn child.

Loptr’s gaze immediately changed to – well, it wasn’t a smile, Helblindi was almost certain he wasn’t capable of that – but it softened then and he nodded before turning his attention back to his fish. There was nothing but the sound of bones crunching between their teeth as they both ate the raw fish, Loptr with considerably more fervor now that he wasn’t the only one eating. He followed the fish with the dark, cold-rising bread, hard and nothing like the Asgardian breads that needed fire and warm air to reach its full potential. This was heavy and rock-like, and it made louder snapping noises than the fish bones had.

Helblindi watched as Loptr, then, bit each berry meticulously in half, eating the two pieces separately and carefully licking every trace of juice off of his flesh. It was only once all of it was done that he drained the water skein in its entirety, passing the cloth and skein back to Helblindi when he was done. The older Jotunn tucked them away before finally pointing down to the shapes. “Loptr, what have you been drawing in the ice?”

The boy’s shoulders came up towards his jaw in a movement that looked equally measured between guilt and evasiveness, his eyes shuttering. “I had a dream,” he murmured around the fishbone stuck between his lips. “Everything was so bright and loud and...” His voice trailed off, a breath of frost across a frozen land. “...I did not understand it.”

Helblindi knew he would not understand either, whether he pressed Loptr for more details or not. He sighed, closing his eyes, and moved to stand. “Do not draw the things you dream.”

When he opened his eyes again, Loptr was looking at him with wide, bewildered eyes. He continued, “They could be ill omens. Dangerous temptations from the world of the Aesir.” The bewilderment changed to fear, though the red eyes were no less wide. “Allow them into your mind and they may consume you. You must purge such thoughts from yourself, little one. They are nothing but trouble.”

Loptr narrowed his eyes as they turned glassy, but he looked down before Helblindi could ascertain whether he had begun to cry or not. He was almost afraid he would have to command the child again, but Loptr just nodded. He drew breath as though prepared to speak, but seemed to think better of it and closed his lips again.

Helblindi watched him before turning from him and leaving. The last thing he heard before he shut the door was the sound of Loptr’s hand scrubbing out his drawings.

\----------

“Phantom!” Thor tossed his play-sword to the side as he shut his door, running with energy into the room. After two years with his friend, he had forgotten that ‘Phantom’ was not his true name. It mattered not, because his friend always answered to it. “Phantom! I would speak with you!”

Behind him, the familiar hiss of his shadow taking shape caused a bright grin to alight his features. He spun, seizing Phantom by the shoulders and yanking him into a fierce hug. The wide green eyes closed halfway in what could only be described as resignation. Thor had begun greeting him this way nearly a year ago, and while he had protested quite mightily at first, he simply endured it now. It had been easy, in the beginning, to simply let Thor fall through him, and he still did so when angered, but more often the forced hugs found their mark.

“I have news,” the prince said as he released his friend, watching as Phantom moved to the edge of his bed and laid himself upon it. “I shall be ten summers in less than a month! Then I shall be permitted to train with the warriors!”

There was a soft, almost imperceptible shift in the air. Thor didn’t notice. “Balder will be so jealous, Phantom! Well, if he understands. Fandral and Volstagg and Hogun will all be with me, as well! It will not be long before I am permitted on journeys of my own, on my first hunt! And Sif, Phantom! When I show her all of the things I have learned...!” He launched into an excited monologue then, talking himself breathless before he finally plopped on the bed with enough force to nearly dislodge Phantom from his perch.

It was as though he had been waiting for Thor to pause before he even reacted, and when he did, all he said was, _“I see.”_

Thor turned to Phantom, confusion swiftly replacing his eagerness. That hadn’t been the response he had expected at all. “You are unhappy.”

Phantom glanced at him before turning his gaze away, and Thor felt something tighten inside his chest. He swiftly turned onto his knees, pressing his hands into the pillows either side of Phantom’s head. Still, the other did not look at him. “What have I done?” he asked, his voice almost pleading as he bit his lower lip. “I did not mean to upset you! I thought... I only...”

_“You will no longer have need of me,”_ Phantom said; his voice was distant, contemplative, and still he did not look at Thor. _“You required me while the warriors would spend no time with you. However, that time has come and gone, has it not? You will be given the treatment you feel you so richly deserve. And you will receive proper training, the sort that I could not give you.”_

“No!” Thor exclaimed, jostling the bed in an attempt to bring Phantom’s gaze to him. “No, I will always have need of you! You and I, we are a good team, Phantom! Do not leave me...!”

_“I am afraid I must. You see, no matter what you may believe, you do not truly need me. I do not see that changing.”_ And in the span of a single blink, Phantom was gone. Thor sat up quickly and looked around his room, only to find his shadow imitating the movements on the floor beside his bed.

“No,” he murmured into the sudden stillness of his room, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Come back.”

He did not know that his play-swords had vanished. And he would never notice.

*

Throwing a tantrum in her room was not going to do her a bit of good.

Of course, Sif had already discovered this, as she was currently sitting on her bed nursing her wounded toe where she had accidentally kicked her glory box in her rage. Hissing through clenched teeth, she rocked back and forth and shut her eyes tightly against the stinging throb. She wouldn’t cry. She refused to cry.

It wasn’t fair. She knew they weren’t doing it to be cruel. She knew that was just how things were. Thor, Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun were bound to cease playing with her as they grew into true warriors. She would soon be expected to spend her days and evenings learning to cook and to sew, learning what was expected of a woman as a wife and a mother and a caretaker of a warrior. Sif huffed out a pained breath and opened her eyes, inspecting the damage to her foot. The top of her middle toe was split, just ahead of her toenail. It was bruising, and the nail would be turning black more than likely. Still, the damage could have been worse, and now that the nausea had passed, she found she could move it. It was not broken, and that meant she would be able to hide it.

She flopped backwards on her bed and closed her eyes tightly, holding her wrists over it. “I want to be a warrior,” she muttered to her ceiling, and the words sounded pathetic and crushing to her own ears. There was no telling how it would sound to another, but thankfully, there was not another there.

A soft chuckle filled the room then, and she sat up as though she had been electrocuted. She opened her mouth to call out, but her words died in her throat as a soft, soothing voice came to her ears.

_“Then allow me to teach you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there was not a lot of development for Thor and “Phantom” during the child arc, and this started going a brand new way la la la. I’m actually a bit preoccupied as to how to end this story in any way that isn’t too entirely depressing and I’m currently coming up short. The present-day child arc still isn’t finished, and the next story will have a lot more development in it, but to be honest this part was important for establishing Loki and Thor's early relationship, explaining a bit about how Loki and Sif's relationship starts, and... not much else. Most of the Things of Import will take place in flashbacks and when the chilluns are grown. The next chapter will also have some actual present-day Loki. I promise. But this is Phantom of the Opera were sort of talking about, here, and most of that development did take place when they were grown.
> 
> Quick response note to a comment I got, and just saying it here for any other curious minds: I do not ship either bottom!Loki or bottom!Thor, as it was put to me. Honestly, I think they’re both far too prideful and stubborn in their own ways to give control to the other all the time, and whoever takes the active role is really just the victor of a battle. In layman’s terms: they both want to top all the time because “that’s how warriors do it” (Thorspeak) and “I do what I want” (Lokispeak), and whoever tires out first bottoms.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaah I’m getting comments. Hooray! I love comments! Please keep in mind that I’ll only respond when I feel like I need to, but that I read every comment and I absolutely love all of you. This chapter is going to have more than one flashback scene in it, because the flashback that I want to do requires a setup. And here the canon goes even more wonky. Woop, swag.

He had been reminded, time and time again, that he was a prideful young man.

Still, the fact that the Jotnar were planning to wage war on Midgard... it could not be forgiven. Even his father could not deny it. He had his spies everywhere, and he had heard on those lines of the impending war. Paranoid he may have been, but it was through Bor’s paranoia that Asgard prospered.

Usually, such paranoia was nothing but an aggravation. But under these circumstances, Odin found himself invested in a council meeting. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

His hands clenched and unclenched on the arms of his chair as the old men around him argued. He wanted to yell at them to make a decision, because everyone could see where it was going. Asgard would go to war with Jotunheim. Asgard did, after all, have a responsibility to Midgard and the mortals that lived there. So why could they not cease talking and get to the fighting already? He would be allowed to fight, he knew, because the crown prince and heir apparent of Asgard would not be left with the basic task of guarding the citadel while the warriors went and claimed the glory for themselves... especially not with the king in such a state that he would be no help on the field.

No, Odin would fight, and he would claim a Jotnar head for himself to mount on his wall as a trophy.

A hand rested on his wrist, stilling his restless fidgeting and drawing his eyes to the delicate white fingers of his fiancé. Frigga did not turn her gaze up from where she was focused on the table, her presence required in much the same way that Odin’s mother’s would have had she still lived. Odin’s sharp blue gaze softened briefly as he watched her, long curls of gold falling around her too-young face and hiding the fear that the proposition of war brought. Her hand was gone, back to her lap, almost as soon as it had come.

Her touch had the desired effect. There may have been no love between them, but her touch had the desired effect nevertheless.

*

“Why did you still me?”

They were alone in her chambers. Odin was well aware that he probably should not have followed her here, but then, she was his betrothed. He would do as he pleased, as her rooms were as good as his property.

Frigga didn’t turn away from her window, fingertips laced together and eyes staring through the window. Odin wanted to go to her and force her to turn, but he didn’t. He simply waited for her words to come, and though they had not known each other for long, he had learned this: Frigga only spoke when she was absolutely certain of what she wanted to say.

Finally, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes so much older than her sixteen summers of age. “It is bad enough that the men talk of war with Jotunheim,” she said softly. “I cannot bear to watch you thirst for it.”

She turned back to the window then, effectively giving the crown prince of Asgard her back. He swallowed down his sudden anger at her. She had no right to speak to him that way; they were not even married, and the right still would have not been there had they been. But to demand anything of her was to earn false simpering apologies and humble requests for forgiveness my liege and a smile somehow more cold than the shoulder she was giving him.

He stilled his rage, clenching his jaw against it. He would not behave like a child. He had nearly fifteen summers on her, and he would not debase himself by behaving as younger than she. “You speak as though the war itself is the evil here.”

“War is always evil,” she said without missing a beat, and though she had not taken time to dwell on the words, she meant them. Odin caught her gaze in the window’s reflection, and she held it there, her hands still folded before her abdomen. “A necessary evil, yes, but an evil still. What kind of king will you be if you actively hope for trouble?”

He broke the eye contact first when he closed his eyes, feeling aggravation running through him once more. “I will be the king that Asgard requires.”

Frigga smiled ruefully, but Odin’s eyes remained closed and he did not see it.

“That is what I am afraid of.”

*

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold of his surroundings passed through Odin’s body. Her words... they had been a warning, had they not? A warning that he had refused to heed, for all his stubbornness. He had rushed into battle, and for that, he had gotten... well, what he deserved, he supposed.

His fingertips moved up to trace the still-bloody gash that had taken out his eye, even as he listened to the reports from one of his scouts. The battle was going well, for all that battles did. The Jotnar had been taken entirely by surprise. They had been unable to muster their full strength when the attack came, and things had just... gone from there.

Gone according to plan, he wanted to say, but he knew that was not true.

Still, he had no reason to complain. It was true that some Jotunn were more resourceful than others, and his face would forever be a testament to that, but he had more important things to worry about than his own injuries. There would be time to mourn the destruction of his features another day. For now, he listened to the details of the report, interrupting the man when he began listing the spoils they would be taking back with them.

“Enough,” he said tiredly, holding his hand up and exhaling sharply. “Enough. I am sure that, whatever treasures the men want to take, it will be fine. You have the Cask, correct?”

“Yes, sir, the Cask was among the list.”

Odin nodded. Good enough. “Then we have nothing more to discuss. Pack everything up carefully, and bring the Cask to me. Is there anything else that I should know about?”

“Well, there was this...” a second man, Odin did not know his name, began before trailing off. He picked up again before he had to be reminded to whom he was speaking. “There was a temple that we found, out in the middle of nowhere. Very grand and very well-tended, but empty. Not as though it had been evacuated, as though no one had ever lived there to begin with.”

Odin frowned at that. Unusual, he had to admit. The Jotnar were many things, but they did not take their religion lightly. Temples were sacred things, and to build one without populating it was unheard of. “New?”

“Fairly, but not completely.”

“And you examined it thoroughly?”

“As thoroughly as we could without breaching your orders, sir.”

Odin nodded. He had told his warriors not to harm the temples, nor anyone in them, and had trusted them implicitly to follow his word. They may have been at war, but harming the civilians was unacceptable. They had no say over what their king did.

“Then it is fine,” Odin said with a sigh, waving his hand. He was beginning to feel weary and the space where his eye was missing had started to throb. “We will return.”

He oversaw as his warriors made ready for their return to Asgard. When he called Heimdall and the Bifrost fell upon them, none of them noticed a small figure that followed them into the light.

\----------

“Mother?”

Frigga’s eyes turned to her son at the murmured word, the soft touch to her knee. She smiled indulgently, and Thor returned it hesitantly before moving to sit beside her on the daybed at her indication. Setting aside the sewing she’d been toying with idly as she stared out the window, she reached out to cup her son’s face and stroke his cheek bone with her thumb. “You are troubled,” she said without preamble, watching as Thor’s gaze flicked between her eyes and towards the door.

The boy bit his lower lip, all the answer that she needed. He would be training to be a warrior soon, and still, he could not hide his tells from his mother.

He would be a good king one day, Frigga realized. As long as he could keep the heart he held now, he would be a good king.

“What is it, my son?” she continued, her other hand reaching out to smooth his hair. She had no doubt that telling her was his intention in coming, but she also had no doubt he would not tell her until she asked.

Still, Thor fidgeted, having trouble maintaining eye contact with her. She knew that gaze well; he felt guilty for something, and it took effort for her not to rephrase her question to ask what it was that he had done. When he finally spoke, his voice was hesitant and he stopped himself repeatedly in his uncertainty. “I am... not supposed... ...I promised that I would not tell, but...”

“Then it shall remain secret,” Frigga said sincerely, her hands framing Thor’s face.

“Even from father?”

“Even from your father,” Frigga confirmed with a nod, feeling the boy begin to relax almost immediately with that promise. It was a promise she would be able to keep for a short time, at least, and depending on the severity there would be no need to bother Odin with it at all. “Come, what troubles thee?”

Thor fidgeted, but seemed more confident with the assurance that his mother would maintain his secret. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then began to talk – he spoke of a phantom that had taken the shape of his shadow, [i]possessed[/i] it, he spoke of schooling in swordsart for two years, his promise to keep such a thing secret, and the phantom’s forced promise to ensure he told no one – and Frigga felt her eyes widening by increments as he spoke.

“And then he told me,” Thor said, his voice growing more distressed, “th-that I would no longer require his company because I no longer needed him because I would be training with a proper teacher, and he was just gone, and I...” He hiccupped, and Frigga silenced him with two fingertips over his lips as her eyes softened.

“Shh, Thor,” she murmured to him, as his tear-filled eyes turned up to her. “Shh. I want you to listen to me,” she continued, and he nodded. She moved her hand away, but the boy remained quiet, so she resumed stroking his hair instead.

“I want you to tell me if that sort of magic is truly possible,” Frigga said, and as Thor began to speak, she shook her head. “No, no. Think. If that sort of magic was possible, would Odin not have such a sorcerer in his army? Would he not scour the nine realms for such a warrior?”

Thor swallowed hard enough that his throat clicked, but he nodded.

Frigga nodded, gathering the boy up into her arms. Truthfully, he was almost too large for her to do so, but he folded into her nevertheless, and she felt his watery sigh against her throat. “Yes. He would. I will not tell you what you saw, exactly, for I was not there. But I can assure you that such magic is impossible. There are none in the nine realms capable of such feats.” She would not say that he had imagined it, but she could feel that the doubt had begun working into Thor’s mind. He didn’t answer with anything but a short nod, and a glance down showed what she could see of his face contorted in a frown.

They were there for a long time, Frigga rocking Thor back and forth slowly, until he finally spoke. “...did I, perhaps, dream him...?”

Frigga didn’t answer. She simply pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

*

Thor safely ensconced away again, Frigga left instructions that she was to be left alone for the rest of the evening. She needed to clear her head from the encounter with her son, and she was certain to tear into any poor serving maid who spoke to her for the next few hours.

So, Frigga began to wander. From her rooms, she moved down hallways and corridors, passing over her usual comfort rooms of the library and the garden in favor of maintaining a quick and harried pace. With the others in the castle parting before her like water, she may as well have been alone, and she took no notice of anyone or anything around her.

Thor. How had such a thing happened? And why now? If it had been going on for two years, why had he not said anything?

A part of her chided her for her ridiculous reaction. Another warned her that she should visit Odin immediately. She dismissed both of them with a mental wave of her hand, knowing that her reaction was perfectly valid and that Odin’s involvement would currently do nothing but make the situation worse. A king he may have been, but a queen who did not keep her secrets was a queen undeserving of her title. At least, that was what she had always believed.

There was no way to explain the situation properly to Odin, anyway. He would begin to worry that Thor was touched, and she knew nothing of the sort to be the case. Thor was, for all his shortcomings, a very intelligent boy and he would grow wise under the right council. She could not have Odin beginning to doubt his mental capabilities.

She thought briefly of Balder, but the younger boy had never shown any indication that he had heard of anything strange about Thor’s activities and her younger son was even worse about keeping secrets. Thor’s friends were another option, and she knew that Fandral, Volstaag, Hogun, and Sif would not be foolish enough to lie directly to her... or she hoped, at least. But they were already loyal to Thor, like very large, very loud, and very energetic Huginn and Muninn, and there was a chance that they would lie in a misguided attempt to protect her son if they did in fact know anything.

Two avenues not worth pursuing.

Frigga resisted the urge to curse and instead wrung her hands, drawing a deep breath through her nose and letting it out through her mouth slowly. She could not afford this sort of foolishness when there was a chance that her son was in some form of danger.

She had one option.

The cold surprised her and she stopped in her tracks, looking to her surroundings. A long, wide stone hallway, the stones themselves coated with frost stretching as far as she could see. She frowned mildly but began following the hall, taking a torch from a sconce with her as she did so. The passage wound once, twice, thrice and opened into an enormous atrium styled like a chapel. It was as stepping into an ice box, and Frigga’s breath came in mist as she looked at the high ceilings with its crystal-ice chips reflecting her firelight and casting it about the room. She stepped around snow drifts and furniture made of ice, pressing her chapping lips together.

The footsteps behind her caused her to turn sharply and she raised the torch, casting the circle of light higher.

Long black hair swept back from his head, black leather breeches and boots, gold and green silk tunic, fair skin that any Asgardian woman would envy, and so tall... he had changed. All except for the golden half-mask over the side of his face. That was still unchanged.

“Frigga,” he said lightly, with the air of someone who had been surprised by unexpected (but not unwelcome) company at tea. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She frowned a little. “Loki.”

He simply smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Augh that took far longer to finish than it should have. I’m sorry! I’ve been working a lot and there’s a flu epidemic going around my hometown right now. There will be slash eventually! I promise! I like build go away leave me alone!


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo getting into the interesting stuff. Or, at least, the stuff I’m still interested in. Hopefully this will clear up most of what’s happened so far, if not everything.

The celebration was primed to last far into the night and the next day, and the day after that, and it had been three days since the return of the warriors. Frigga found that her polite smile had become somewhat strained over the past days with the stress of keeping it up and the knowledge that she would be expected to attend until everything had finally wound down.

But that was to be expected. After all, they had defeated Jotunheim in a grand victory.

Another round of drinks was called for and she leaned over to touch Odin’s arm. There were certain benefits to being a woman, and begging off for a while with a headache and a need for sleep was a perfectly viable one. The hall would be full of people drifting in and out for many hours yet, leaving to catch some sleep or have sex with this partner or that partner or, in the more extreme cases, throw up before returning to feast further. A disgusting practice and one Frigga refused to participate in, but she was well aware of its existence.

Standing, she exited the hall and made for her rooms. The excuse of a headache was not entirely fabricated, and she felt something pounding behind her left eye as she went down the hallway. She was the bride to be of Odin Borson, soon to be a princess and then a queen. She would have to learn to cope with such situations, but for today, she simply couldn’t.

As she stepped into her receiving room, a soft crash from the connecting bedroom chased all thoughts of a rest from her mind. Senses immediately sharpened, she thought to call for a guard, but almost immediately stopped herself. No, she would not be one of those women that screamed for a man at the slightest provocation. Though many would still consider her a child at sixteen, she was a woman in her own mind and would use this opportunity to prove it.

A dagger, ceremonial but still sharp, was drawn from a sheath on the wall as silently as possible as Frigga made her way to her bedroom door. It was dark within, but she saw a small shadow dart from behind the bed to behind her lounge chair, then behind her curtains. She could hear labored, pained breathing, and then it went silent.

“I know you’re here,” she called in a challenge as she stepped into the doorway, blocking the only exit from the room. Well, there were the windows, of course, but they were so far up that only a fool would think to escape that way. And if her intruder was such a fool, he would be her problem for only a short time more.

“Come out.” She managed to keep her voice from shaking as she gripped the knife, keeping her eyes on where she had last seen the shadow. “Come out or I will fetch the guards and they will force you out.”

She had seen something. She had heard something. There was no way she was imagining it, but the silence challenged her in a way that she didn’t understand. Turning halfway, Frigga opened her mouth to call for someone, keeping the dagger in sight.

“No!”

The voice startled her and she snapped her head back in the direction it had come from. The opposite side of the room from her curtains, over near the closets? How had the intruder gotten there?

“Come out, then,” she said sternly. “You have invaded the chambers of the fiancé of Odin Borson. You are not welcome here.”

“I did not... I was only...” The voice was that of a child, and Frigga felt some of her inner ice melting. The child sounded terrified. “Please do not call the guards, I did not mean to intrude, I am just looking for somewhere to hide...!”

There was a long silence as Frigga debated her many options. It would be so easy to call for the guards and have them deal with this problem, but he... he was nothing but a child, was he? She heard a soft whimper of fear from the other side of the room and it was that small sound that decided her. She stepped into the room and shut the door quietly. “...if you do not wish for me to call the guards, come here and explain yourself. From whom are you hiding?”

She reached out to light a lantern, but she didn’t get the opportunity; it flared to life when her fingers were still a few inches away, and she let out a soft gasp of surprise. Turning, she looked towards the opened closet door and froze at what she saw staring back at her.

He was hidden behind the doorframe, mostly, but she could see more than she needed to. One blood red eye peered fearfully at her, set in a face marred with intricate lines. One hand was clinging to the frame, long nails threatening to scratch the varnishing on the wood. One ivory horn, still short and blunt, curved up from a wild, waist-length tangle of black hair. But it was the skin of the face, the skin of the hand, that stole her breath. There was no denying what that blue meant.

“...you are Jotunn,” she whispered, her eyes widening further as she moved her hand back to the wall behind her for purchase. The boy didn’t approach her as she expected; instead, he cowered further into the closet, nails digging small grooves into the soft wood of the door frame.

Fear, from a Jotunn? Even in one this small, she hadn’t thought it possible.

Swallowing hard, she pushed herself away and took a step towards him. He cowered further, disappearing entirely. “Come out,” she said, though she did not come closer. “I won’t... I won’t hurt you.”

“Yes you will,” the boy said in a weak voice. “You... y-you all hurt, you came and killed.”

Frigga’s outstretched hand pulled back a bit, fingers curling into her palm. “...were you taken as a prisoner?”

Half of the boy’s face reappeared and he shook his head a little. “No. Followed the soldiers.” His face scrunched up slightly and she could see curiosity warring with fear, the latter of the two fading just slightly in light of the fact that she wasn’t approaching him again. “What are you...?”

“I am Aesir,” Frigga said with a light frown, tilting her head.

“I know that,” the boy said with a trace of exasperation in his voice. “You have... things on your chest.” His finger extended slightly. “Why?”

Frigga glanced down before blushing, placing her hands over her breasts. “Things?!”

The boy nodded, though he shrunk back at the tone of her voice. “You are changing color, too...”

Clearing her throat, Frigga looked down, then to the side, then the other side, anywhere but the boy. “They... they are breasts. I am a woman. Do you not have women on Jotunheim?”

“No.”

Frigga frowned, wondering privately how that was even possible. She wanted to ask, but realized after a moment that she didn’t want an answer. Instead, she changed to a different tactic. “Is that who you are hiding from? The soldiers?”

He nodded a little. “They did not know I came with them. There was no one left to care for me. I heard the soldiers speak. My caretakers were destroyed. I did not wish to die so I followed them instead.”

“How did...” Frigga’s voice trailed off and she shook her head. Would the boy even know how he had gotten past Heimdall’s gaze? “How did you manage to get in unseen?”

“Like this,” the boy said before disappearing from sight. Frigga gasped softly, though it was nothing compared to the soft shriek she let out when the boy reappeared immediately in front of her. She stumbled backwards into the wall, and he backed up quickly, though he was smiling faintly. Now that she could see him, he looked woefully underfed. For an Aesir child, at least. She could see his ribs, and all he had covering him was a cloth across his hips.

Of course, it might have been warm enough for him, having lived on Jotunheim for so long.

“How did you do that?”

“I do not know,” the boy said as he raised his hands, looking at his palms. “It is... simply something that I can do.”

Frigga stared at him, tilting her head. “...how old are you...?”

“Thirteen winters,” the boy said.

“What is your name?” When he hesitated, she added, “I am Frigga.”

“...Loki,” he said after another long pause, with the air of someone who had made a final decision.

“What else can you do, Loki?”

It was incredible. He could light fires that were so cold they burned to the touch, or fires that she herself could hold in her palms. He formed ice out of the air and shaped mist with his fingers, creating flowers and animals that she would show him from pictures in books. He made an ice-crystal horse for her, and even though she set it on her mantle, it refused to melt. He made shadows move and change colors, and spread a sheet of colored ice in front of the fire that made a rainbow prism dance across the walls as the fire crackled and popped.

She could have been in there for minutes, or for hours, but it would have made no difference to her.

But it was when she touched him, more than anything else, that amazed her. It was an accident, no more than a brush of her fingertips across the back of his hand, but the color began to spread immediately. Pale Aesir skin in place of the blue of the Jotnar, covering his hand and reaching up his arm. They both watched, stunned, as his appearance steadily changed from that of a Jotunn to that of an Aesir.

But her eyes were trained on his face. One eye had turned a piercing green, but the other... the other was still red, and there was a splattering of blue on the side of his face that looked as though someone had flung blue ink across it.

“How did you do that?” Loki asked, touching his arm with his fingertips and sounding awed.

“I think you did, but Loki, your face...”

He frowned, confused, until she brought him a looking glass. He touched the place and tilted his head a little, tracing his fingers over the blue. “...I cannot change it,” he said. He looked down at his hand and watched as it changed to blue, then back to white, back and forth. After a moment, his other eye turned green as well, but there was no change in his skin.

“...perhaps part of my skin is broken,” he said in a musing voice, still tracing the splatter pattern of blue on the side of his face. It spread across his forehead and the bridge of his nose, down across his cheek bone and following his jaw. “...I had thought, for a moment, that I would be able to hide, but...”

“...give me a moment,” Frigga said before getting to her feet and hurrying to the other room. She returned a few moments later with a golden mask, intricate embossed patterns tracing over it. She placed it over his face for a moment before pulling it away and beginning to cut it with her knife, speaking as she did so. “We had a masquerade a few seasons back. This was one of my options for a mask, but I thought it looked too masculine and refused to wear it. If I just...”

When she was done, she raised the half-mask to Loki’s face and smiled a bit. “There. It looks... elegant, actually.”

Loki moved his hand up and held the mask in place as he reached for the looking glass again, studying his reflection. He tilted his head a little, considering, before nodding and moving the mask down. “Thank you,” he said quietly, running his hand over the rough edges. Where he touched, they grew smooth as though the mask had not been cut in twain. “Why would you do this for me?”

Frigga stared at him for a long moment before sighing quietly. “I am... lonely, if I must be honest,” she said, glancing away as though embarrassed to actually be caught in such an admission. “And you seem lonely as well. I thought that, perhaps, we would be able to keep each other company...?”

He stared at her for a long moment before a smile formed. “...I would like that.”

She smiled back at him before standing, offering him her hand. “Come to my bathroom with me. We should do something about your hair.”

\----------

“You did not answer my question, darling,” Loki was saying as Frigga turned her attention back to him, watching as he walked around her and summoned up a chair made of ice from the floor itself. It was so damp here, far below the palace, and she knew exactly why he had chosen it.

More moisture in the air meant more ice that he could make. As returning to Jotunheim wasn’t an option for him, and never had been, he would make his own sanctuary as close to his own habitat as he could.

Another chair was summoned, as well as a low table between the two, as Frigga watched him. “It was a question asked in sarcasm, so I did not think you wished for an answer.”

He laughed, the sound reminiscent of crystal bells. Fragile in a way, and while not unpleasant, there was something otherworldly about it.

Which was fair, she supposed. There were many things otherworldly about him.

“I did, actually,” he said as he settled himself in one of the chairs and gestured her to the one across from him. It was purposeful and she knew it was to make her uncomfortable, but she refused to rise to the bait and simply moved over to sit in the chair. She could feel the cold of the ice biting her skin through her clothing, but she refused to flinch. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “So, I will ask you again.” Loki smiled at her, tilting his head. “To what. Do I owe. The pleasure?”

Frigga frowned at his tone but raised her chin, staring him directly in the eye. “I think you know, Loki.”

“Indulge me regardless.”

“My son.”

He raised an eyebrow, the only one she could see, before he laughed again. “Your son?”

“Yes. My son.”

“Hmm...” Loki tilted his head back a little, staring up at the ceiling. “I am afraid I do not know what you mean.”

“Do not play games with me, Loki,” Frigga said, the edge in her voice enough to draw the man’s gaze back to her. “I am not here to threaten you. I simply wish to know what it is that you are doing with my son. He is nothing but a boy.”

“And what makes you think that I have done anything to him? I have not left my chambers, and I am sure you would have heard if I had,” Loki said, spreading his hands out a bit to gesture around the room.

“I know that you, more than any others, have your ways. And I know what you are capable of. The things that Thor told me...” She trailed off before frowning. “I know it was you, Loki. Please do not deny it. You can lie about many things, but what he described was your work.”

“Mm. When did he speak to you?”

It wasn’t a denial, and Frigga was not about to take it as such. “This afternoon. He was very loath to tell me about it, and only did so as I promised not to tell his father what he said.”

“Ah, so you have no intention of telling your king what the child says came to pass? Interesting,” Loki said as he examined his nails. “So the boy told you. I did nothing to him but instruct him in swordplay. I do not see why this is such a problem. If he told you today, then he also told you that I have left him and I have no intention of visiting him again.”

“And if I don’t believe you?”

His piercing green eyes rose to meet hers and they stared at each other for a very long moment. He smiled, then, tilting his head to the side and shaking his head. “I would assume you had forgotten everything you’d ever known of me if you did believe me, my dearest Frigga.”

Frigga didn’t return the smile, her hands moving to clench in the fabric of her skirt. She drew in a slow breath before releasing it quickly, annoyed at the fact that he was clearly amused by her frustration. She drew another breath, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Be that as it may, I cannot tolerate this, Loki. If you approach my son again, I will have to reveal you.”

Loki’s smile hardened, though it was still present as he folded his hands. “Mm.” She didn’t know what to make of that sound, and he didn’t elaborate for the longest moment. “Well, I have already told you that I have no intention of approaching the boy again, have I not? There is nothing more that you can do _beyond_ believing me. If I approach him again, then I am a liar. If I do not, then I am not.”

“It is not that easy.”

“But it is, regrettably, the only option that you have.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly as his smile grew sharper, and she frowned. The next silence was anything but quiet, full of a crackling tension that Frigga could feel crawling over her arms. Eventually, he stood, walking a distance away and letting his fingertips trace over the ice sculptures he had furnished his cave with. “Listen, Frigga. Tell Thor that I do not exist. Magic of my sort is still not found among the Aesir, correct?” He didn’t look at her, but she nodded anyway. “He is young enough and will eventually convince himself that he imagined me. I simply used him as a distraction from my tedium. I have no real need of him, and never did, and he no longer requires my assistance so I see no reason not to cut our ties. It is a simple matter, really.”

Frigga sighed. She didn’t believe him, had learned long ago that she could not believe anything that Loki said, but she had no option other than to agree. “Very well. I will trust you in this, Loki.”

“Good. Then we are done here,” he said with a smile, vanishing from sight. Frigga stood quickly and retraced her steps up towards the warmth of the palace, but the cold lingered on her skin for hours afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That took way less time than the last one. Huh. NO THOR OOPS.


End file.
